Growing Pains
by usa123
Summary: Bucky accidentally rips one of the shirts Steve lent him while boxing. He expects his friend to be upset but is instead reminded that not all people are as cruel as his handlers had been.


**A/N: Just an idea I had after seeing this picture of a much healthier Bucky (for reference: see the cover image). Other than that picture, there are no spoilers for the _Civil War_.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

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Bucky Barnes jerked upright in his bed at Stark Tower, his breathing coming in harsh ragged pants and sweat pouring down his face. He sat there for just long enough for his brain to fully wake up, then threw off the sheets and sprang to his feet in one easy motion. After quickly pulling a shirt over his head, he practically ran to the gym to take out his pent-up energy on a reinforced Stark-issue punching bag.

He jogged in place exactly twice while swinging his arms in a horizontal circle, then began to punch, not even taking the time to wrap his hands. Remnants of the nightmare flashed in his vision—the things he had done, the people he had hurt—as he hit and kicked and pounded the bag, losing himself in the simplicity of the motion.

An indeterminate amount of time later, he saw the face of a young woman and lashed out at the bag with all his strength, hearing a loud ripping sound just as his left hand made contact. The noise snapped him back to the present and he pulled his follow-up punch, assuming he'd broken the supposedly indestructible bag. As his vision cleared though, he realized the bag was still hanging intact.

 _Then what had he heard…?_

At that exact moment, he felt cool air from the air conditioner blowing directly onto his right shoulder blade. He reached over with his left hand and felt the torn fabric, instantly realizing that he'd ripped his shirt. He wasn't terribly concerned, as he was confident he could find a way to mend the seam, until he looked down at the shirt for the first time since waking from his nightmare and realized it was one of Steve's.

Bucky had been living with in Avengers Tower for about two weeks now. He had brought a change of clothes with him but, upon his arrival, the collective Avengers had taken one look at the threadbare outfit and tossed it. Steve had lent him a few pieces of clothing to tide him over until they could go shopping. As he was slightly underweight and malnourished after his time on the streets, Steve's clothes fit him well, hanging much looser on him than they did on their owner. Even after he'd gone shopping with Steve and purchased more clothes than he'd ever seen in one place in his entire life, he still kept a few of Steve's clothes because they were soft with repeated washes.

He had no idea if Steve was ever going to ask for his clothes back, but if he did, Bucky was pretty sure Steve wouldn't want any of them to be broken.

Barnes gasped as a pain lit through his skull, bringing with it a painful flashback: one from many years ago when he had destroyed a piece of tech on a mission. His punishment had not been pleasant.

As the pain faded, irrational fear began to set in: what if Steve was upset? What if he didn't want him in the Tower anymore, as he clearly couldn't take care of even a T-shirt? From what he could remember, Steve didn't seem like the type, but his logic was lost in the wave of sheer, unbridled panic.

He fell to his knees, clutching at his heart which was threatening to beat out of his chest. _What if he had made the wrong choice coming back here?_

"Sergeant Barnes?" JARVIS queried. "My sensors indicate you are having a panic attack. Let me remind you that you are in Avengers Tower. The time is currently…" The British voice droned on and on, reciting facts about his current location, the time and date, until Bucky came back to himself.

He took a few deep breaths then gasped, "Thanks JARVIS."

"You're most welcome sir. Should I alert Captain Rogers?"

Fear lanced through his system again but this time Bucky was aware enough to tamp it down.

"No. I need to talk to him anyway."

He knew from experience that it would be better to face Steve now and tell him what had happened than to wait and hope he could get away with hiding it. He had memories of that too, and suffice it to say they weren't pleasant ones.

Maybe it wouldn't be that bad….He knew he could fix the shirt—he was sure of it—so maybe Steve wouldn't be too terribly upset. But even as he thought it, dread crept into his stomach and knotted his intestines.

 _He had to get this over with._

Bucky hurried back to his room and switched into one of his newshirts, after reverently peeling off Steve's sweaty and torn one so as to not further rip it. Then he crossed to the other side of the floor and knocked on the door to Steve's room.

The door swung open seconds later, revealing Rogers clad only in a pair of pajama bottoms and rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Bucky, what's wrong?" he asked, instantly awake as soon as he saw his friend.

Barnes took a deep breath and shoved the shirt at Steve. "I ripped it."

Steve blinked. "What?"

 _Maybe he had said it in the wrong language._ That happened sometimes when he was nervous. "I ripped it," Bucky repeated, slowly, forcing himself to speak in English.

Steve still looked confused. "I heard you the first time, Buck. It's not a big deal. I have plenty others."

 _Was this a tactic or was Steve really not mad?_

He decided to take the direct approach. "You're not mad?"

An unreadable expression slipped onto Steve's face. "No, I'm not mad," he said levelly. "I will never be mad at something that happens accidentally."

"Oh," Bucky shifted uncomfortably. He'd been wrong...and he wasn't used to being wrong so he didn't know how to act next.

Then Steve tilted his head to the side and Bucky instantly became concerned again. Steve slid his hand into the shirt, seemingly disinterested in its wet condition, and poked his fingers through the hole. "Bucky, how did you rip the shirt?"

 _Dammit, Steve_ was _mad._ "Punching," Barnes muttered as his heart dropped to his knees.

Steve looked at his friend closely, then held out the shirt by the shoulders, dangling it between them. Barnes immediately felt uncomfortable by the scrutiny but forced himself to not pull away—he could do this. He could handle any punishment Steve dished out.

After making a quick move to show Bucky he meant no harm, Rogers slowly reached out and tried to stick his fingers between the shirt sleeve cuff and Bucky's flesh arm. Unfortunately, the fabric was stretched so tightly it hardly gave. "Bucky," Steve said slowly, "I think you outgrew your shirt."

Bucky's eyes widened as memories danced through his brain: the punishments, the diets, the tube. He'd taken too much advantage of all the food—in hindsight, he'd known it was all a test and should have held back, but Steve looked so _happy_ when Bucky finished a meal that he had kept it up. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he found himself saying ad nauseum as the world greyed out to panic. "I'll be more careful. I can fit into them again."

"What?" Steve gasped, all the color draining out of his face. "No!"

He reached out and pulled Bucky into a hug, yanking him out of his downward spiral. "You listen here—there's no need to be careful around food. I'm happy you gained a little weight. You look healthy for the first time since you got here. I was worried about you; I haven't seen people look that sickly since the war."

Well this was not going as Bucky had planned. "You what?" Barnes asked in genuine confusion.

Steve pulled out of the hug and rested his hands on Bucky's shoulders. "I was worried," he repeated, looking directly at his friend. "We all were. Especially after your physical."

"But I passed," Bucky stated, still not understanding Steve's point.

Steve huffed out an unamused laugh. "You _barely_ passed. You were half a percent from being considered underweight and your blood work was all over the chart...That's bad, in case you weren't aware."

"Oh," was all Bucky could say.

"Shit, Buck. You thought I was gonna be mad? It's just a shirt. Material's not nearly as durable as it used to be anyway. What's important is that you're healthy. We'll just have to get you new stuff tomorrow."

Bucky opened his mouth to protest.

"Don't even think about saying you can make the old stuff fit again. You can hardly move in the shirt you have on now." Steve shook his head and muttered, almost to himself, "We should have thought about that last time we went shopping. We'll make sure to get stuff in different sizes this time around."

"But Steve, we just bought—"

"We'll donate them, Buck, to someone who needs them. We won't let them go to waste."

"I still don't have any money." The very moment he decided to return to Steve's life, he'd burned all the Hydra cash as an act of symbolism. In hindsight, it wasn't his smartest idea but it had felt damn good at the time.

Steve looked personally wounded. "You need clothes that fit Bucky. And you can't wear these until Coulson gets your back pay all sorted out." He paused for a second then said, "If it will make you feel better, I'll buy your clothes tomorrow and you can pay me back when you have money again."

That _did_ make Bucky feel better. He couldn't remember exactly but he was pretty sure he had never enjoyed people taking care of him, much preferring to handle all his issues by himself. He didn't have a lot of choice, given his current situation, but the prospect of paying Steve back did a lot to relieve some of the weight on his shoulders. "Okay," he finally agreed.

"Great!" Steve exclaimed with a smile that was bright enough to illuminate the entire floor. "First thing tomorrow we'll go shopping. Until then, get some sleep."

Bucky's back instinctively straightened before he could stop it and Steve cursed. Loudly. "No Bucky." He paused to evaluate his words then said, "If you want to get some more sleep, you should. Otherwise you should do whatever you wanted to do."

The concept of having a legitimate choice was still somewhat of a thrill for Bucky, so he thought long and hard about what he wanted to do. In the end, he decided he _was_ tired after his boxing practice and subsequent panic attack, and would need to be firing on all cylinders to face the crowds tomorrow at the mall. "Sleep sounds good."

Steve nodded tersely, but a small smile did creep back onto his face. "Sleep it is then. See you in the morning Buck."

After a brief hesitation, Bucky's expression mirrored his friends'. "G'night Steve," he said as he began to walk back across their massive floor at Stark Tower. He waited until he was outside his own room to add, "and thanks."

"Anytime Buck."

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